


Frank Bangs Lucille Bluth

by TheVioletHour (TinternAbbey)



Category: Arrested Development, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Crack Pairing, F/M, a loose seal and a trashman, if Lucille can be charmed by a sand hobo than surely Frank can charm her after enough booze, just a couple of bad parents bonding together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinternAbbey/pseuds/TheVioletHour
Summary: Now the story of a wealthy businessman who lives in squalor, and the one matriarch who's consumed enough vodka to put up with him for the night. It's Frank Bangs Lucille Bluth.





	Frank Bangs Lucille Bluth

**Author's Note:**

> I think anyone who's a fan of both shows can agree that Mac and Gob are uncannily similar, but it occurred to me that Frank and Lucille have got their similarities too. And so this is the weird trip my brain took me on.
> 
> (This is compliant with the most recent seasons of both AD and IASIP, though there's really nothing spoilery in here.)

She reminds him of his whore wife.

Stuck-up broad all covered in rocks, bossing around the barman for another vodka martini. Like Barbara—but with a nicer neck. Rack ain't too bad either. As a rule, Frank doesn't prowl for old broads, but one of the whores back in Philly gave him a nasty case of crabs a while back. It was probably Rhonda. A good whore (never tried to steal his wallet), but that bitch has had crabs so many times she ought to go into the chowder business.

(Turns out they don't boil too good into a chowder, though. He and Charlie have tried it. But maybe second time's the charm.)

Like shacking up with a fancy broad. This one's sitting all alone, rocks glittering on her hands when the light catches them, and Frank normally doesn't prowl for class either. But between the crabs and Charlie having that damn waitress living with him, Frank figured he'd take a little trip to California and sample some high-class cooze for a change. He ain't getting any younger.

But he's still got the moves.

Is she trying to wink at him? Hard to tell. (Must be Botox or something—or maybe hornet stings. Those little shits can probably paralyze you.)

Couple of vodkas later, he's got the empty barstool next to her, though she turns up her nose at his offer of wine-in-a-can. Classy bitch. Frank drinks it up himself, savoring the nice aluminum tang in the wine, while the broad (he's forgotten her name; sounds like Loose Seal?) just watches him and mutters, "So _that's_ how the other half lives."

He's charmed her already.

Except Seal or Loose or whatever, once she's had a couple more, starts going on about her goddamn kids. There's four of them: the annoying gay son, the fancy-shirt-wearing son who thinks he's a cut above the rest, the useless blonde daughter, and the weird childish son who shares a house with her.

Sounds weirdly familiar. He must be getting _blitzed_. She's even got a set of twins, though hers are fake twins. (That Lindsay chick sure got a bad deal.) And this Loosey broad sure is crafty. Reminds him of the fakeout he always pulled at Christmastime, so he tells her all about it. (Shit. Now she's got _him_ yakking about his lousy kids.)

"—and Dennis and Deandra got all excited, thinking good ol' Santa had answered their wishes. But then when they opened their presents— _surprise!_ —they were all empty. Should show you the tapes sometime. Those are great memories."

She's impressed. "That reminds me of the year Santa gave Gob coal for Christmas. I had the maid write up a naughty list to go with it. Riddled with spelling errors, of course—you know how these Hispanics are—but to a little boy, what's the difference?"

"That's nothing. When my whore wife Barbara died a while back, she left Dennis her whole goddamn house, and didn't leave jack shit to Deandra. Pretty hilarious—though it ain't exactly my style. I treated 'em both like shit equally, but Barbara was one vindictive bitch."

So they keep on talking. And Frank's having a pretty good time—and he hasn't even gotten to the banging part yet.

"—and don't even get me started on Gob and these so-called tricks of his—"

"Same! 'Cept with Mac it's this karate shit. Kid thinks he's a ninja or something."

"I can't imagine where they get these pathetic aspirations from. _I_ certainly never encouraged him."

And soon she's one step away from getting in the sack with him. He can feel it. Must be the money that does the trick. Barbara always got wet at the sight of cold hard cash, and _this_ broad's no different. All Frank has to do is get her a little tipsier, pull out a wad of dough for the bill, and sure enough she's suggesting they go to this beach house her family owns. Sounds like a sweet deal.

It _is_ a sweet deal. Loosey's got a maid at the beach house, except she doesn't speak English too good. Frank tries explaining to her how to make a Grilled Charlie, but it's way over her head, so he gets her to cook up some seagull eggs instead.

Those seagull eggs are a real delicacy.

And they taste even better while he's plowing Loosey in her husband's bed. They say men can't multi-task, but Frank's perfected the art of eating and banging. There's a certain nuance to it (which is some bullshit phrase he got from Dennis); a special dance that creates the perfect balance between feeding two appetites at once.

Loosey doesn't seem to give a shit, as long as the maid cleans it up.

She's the type who likes to smoke afterward, so he lets her light up and figures it ain't so bad, crawling back to luxury now and then. Weird, how it feels like he's known this broad for years—and her kids too. That Buster of hers seems to love juice as much as Charlie loves cheese.

He's got to take Charlie back to the Jersey Shore sometime. Get the kid some seagull eggs.

But first he's got to sleep all this off—preferably out on the beach. Too much fancy living will spoil him. Loosey's about to pass out on the bed anyway. She's pretty wasted.

So is he. His gun nearly goes off when he tucks it back into his waistband. Could have lost a nut.

"So long, Loose."

He never told her he didn't get the crabs cleared up.


End file.
